Will to Survive
by KnyteMare
Summary: They found her alone in the store, the rest of the city gone or undead. How long was she there before they came? What happened to get her there? Oneshot, movie-verse.


Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil: Extinction, nor anything associated with the movie or by products.

* * *

Dahlia looked out of the cracked window warily. The car was on the far side of the parking lot, not a soul in site. The past few days had taught her well though: the undead were everywhere. Even if you couldn't see them. She took a shaky breath, looking around the tan interior of the RV.

The cabinets were cleaned out, trash thrown everywhere. Without any more food, and very little gas left, this was her last chance.

The K-Mart sign had seen better days. The 't' hung crooked, and the 'M' was the only letter trying to stay lit, flickering in and out of existence. The store itself almost looked like it had been built for the sole purpose of a fortress, the double entrance glass doors were the only windows within reaching distance. With three different levels, even the upper windows were small, and sparse.

She had been there often enough to know that the outer set of doors were shatter proof. There had been too many mornings when the windows would be cracked from rocks and other projectiles, when the manager had finally decided to end it once and for all. Seeing that the windows had held up, she was positive that none of the zombies had made it to the inside; the owner had been one of the first people out of town once the disease had reached it, the store locked and closed since then.

She would be safe if she could make it in; though unusually strong, zombies couldn't think enough to use weapons. And nothing short of a gunshot, or perhaps a highly accelerated car (anything that exerted a large amount of force on one area, actually), would make it through the outer defense.

Dahlia's leg bounced in anticipation as one hand played with her metal nail-file and bobby-pin. Her last hope.

The store was the only place she could think to go, where she actually had a chance to reach and be able to hole up in long enough for her to figure out another plan.

She wasn't too worried about that part yet. She had to stay alive first.

Taking a deep breath, not knowing if it would be one of her last ones, she finally did the one thing she had been building herself up to do all morning.

She opened the door.

Jumping down, she stayed crouched, her head spinning side to side in an effort to detect another form of life.

Nothing. Total silence, though she knew that it didn't necessarily mean safety, she took comfort in the small fact that she would hopefully be able to hear anything before it got very close to her.

With that in mind, she took off at a dead sprint, glad that her track and field training would be put to good use. She made it across the parking lot in hardly 20 seconds, now struggling in frantic movements to pick the lock of the store. Though she was still in the clear, she couldn't help how exposed and vulnerable she felt. After another few seconds, she almost cried in relief hearing the click of the door release. She swung it opened with a vicious force, pulling it shut just as quickly. Seeing the latch she locked it once again, backing up.

As if sensing fresh meat, she saw a lone zombie make its way up from the ravine, just past her RV. She quickly let herself in the second set of doors, making sure it was also locked behind her. The undead looked around in confusion, not able to find its prey. Dahlia let herself collapse against the door, adrenaline pumping through her veins still.

_Not even a close call, _she thought, trying to calm herself down. Knowing that these doors were the only windows on the ground level, the only entrance available by force, she finally climbed to her feet, the dim light illuminating more than enough of the level for her to see.

She made her way slowly through the store, knowing that the first floor was home maintenance, gardening, and repairs. Perfect. She grabbed one of the tool bags from the shelf, piling in nails and a hammer easily.

She made her way though the back of the store, pushing open the swinging door into the back storage room. She looked around, and after several minutes finally found what she was looking for. Using a wheelbarrow, though not ideal, the only thing she could find, she piled several two-by-fours across the top, escaping back through the double swinging doors. Dumping the wood at the front entrance, noting that the zombie was gone again, she brought the wheelbarrow back, loading up on bags of cement this time, before going back again. It took a dozen more trips out before she was satisfied with her supplies.

Happy that she had the initial plan well thought out, she started the work, setting up the ladder against the wooden beam at the top of the door, behind the sheet-rocked wall. For the next hour she diligently hammered one end of each two-by-four from the top of the glass entrance, leaving one door unbarred. Done, she lined up several layers of the bagged cement at the bottom, the best reinforcement she could move single handedly. She put several more nails into the boards before tightly winding the metal wire she had retrieved around each nail. Finally, she had grabbed several packets of sheets from the second floor; she draped them from the top of her fortified doorway, cutting slits at eye level that she could look out without revealing herself.

She stepped back with a gulp, taking a shuttering breath.

Dahlia knew it wouldn't hold up if someone, or thing, was serious about getting in, but it gave her a sense of reassurance. Though she still felt vulnerable in the huge department store, all by herself, she shrugged her shoulders, knowing she was still alive and safe for the moment. She hastily made her way to the center of the huge room, all but running up the non-powered escalators leading up to the second level.

This was the K-Mart people pictured when they thought of a K-Mart. Clothes, first aid, cleaning supplies, cooking supplies, non-perishable foods and drinks, stationary. The top level was where she would spend most of her time, she didn't doubt. Sports, electronics, and room decor.

That aside, she made a beeline for the first food isle, taking in the many bags and boxes of trail mix and crackers. More like snacks, but after nearly two days without food she wasn't picky. She grabbed a large bag of mixed nuts and dried fruit, and a large bottle of water, opening both immediately. They were gone within moments, and she took more from the shelves. She went off to explore the store for anything she might need immediately.

* * *

Nightfall found Dahlia on the top floor, where she had gone through the trouble of moving a whole bed from the appliances section into the middle of the hunting and camping display. With several pillows and sleeping bags, she huddled on the soft mattress, taking comfort in the several loaded guns and sharp knives within reach. With the aid of a backpack from the second floor, she had several containers of food and drinks to last her for the night and most of the next morning, as well as several flashlights with batteries, and a small radio, on and tuned into a local channel, the only one she knew.

It was silent at the moment.

She was quite sure that it wasn't a strategic escape plan to be as far away from the main entrance, but at least she felt safe at the moment. In the silence of the store, it would be easy to hear the echo of any disturbance other than herself. With that in mind, and the fire escape she knew was along the same wall she was placed against, she fell into an uneasy sleep.

_Dream_

_Dahlia ran through her house, nearly hysterical. Her mother was gone, had yet to return from work. Undoubtedly she was either out there, forgetting about her family in her own haste to escape, or she was already dead._

_"Dahlia! Quick!"_

_She picked up speed, racing to catch up to her brother and father. The sound of breaking glass fueled her haste, and the three ran into the kitchen. Looking out into the back yard, they glanced at each other before slowly easing the door open._

_All clear._

_Dahlia ran out first, straight across the yard and into the RV parked in the gravel spot behind the house, followed closely by her brother. Once inside she fished the keys out of the glove compartment, tossing them to her brother who took the drivers seat and started it up. She looked through the windshield, back to her house. Registering what she was seeing, she screamed._

_"Dad!"_

_Her brother looked up just in time as their father was full on tackled to the ground by an undead creature. She squeezed her eyes shut at the site of blood, choking back a sob, but spun to the movement on her left._

_"Josh!" she grabbed at her brother's sleeve. He shrugged off her hand violently, shooting her a glare._

_"Dahlia, I'm going back out."_

_"But-"_

_"No. Take the wheel. Get to safety. I'm not letting Dad die alone."_

_"But you'll let me?"_

_"Dahl. I won't let you die at all. Look at that!" she turned to where his finger was pointing. "They will be on this in seconds. This might be your only chance to escape."_

_Dahlia watched hopelessly as her brother climbed out of the RV, sprinting back across the lawn. Not giving herself a chance to see his fate, she shifted the RV into drive, flooring it. Although still several years from being able to get her license, she knew more than better how to operate an automobile._

_She didn't let off the gas until she was several miles away._

_End Dream_

Dahlia's eyes snapped open as light filtered through one of the several windows on the upper level. She looked around warily, confused for a moment.

The radio was still silent. Climbing out of the mess of blankets, she clipped the small device to her pants, in easy reach, and grabbed a bag of chips from the pile of food and a bottle of juice. She easily clipped two knives to the pockets of the cargo pants she had put on the previous night, as well as slinging the strap of one shotgun over her shoulder, and a hand gun at her waist. Set she made her way to a window at the front of the store, looking down over the parking lot and roads in front.

The RV was tipped, front windshield smashed in and door torn off. She shivered, glad that she hadn't stayed in it for another night longer. Though the few that she had, she hadn't gotten much sleep. Too busy driving away from zombies and trying to escape her family's demise.

RV remains aside, the area was devoid of any form of life, alive or undead. She took a breath, turning away from the bleak scene. She turned to the electronics section, flipping on one of the smaller TVs, turning the volume down so that it wasn't distracting, relieved to find that there was a generator, and it was probably good to last for a few weeks.

The News was no help, just more rambling about how the infection kept on spreading. Dahlia was surprised that they were even airing TV stations anymore.

_Not for much longer in any case. They won't live out this thing just because they're in the city._

She clicked off the TV, making a note to look through the movies for something cheerful to watch that night.

Or something survival oriented.

Still eating the chips she made her way to the lower level, grabbing a can of mixed fruit. Using a can opener from the cooking area, she fought it open and drank the juice straight out of it, eating the fruit as it came.

_Mom would kill me if she could see my newest eating habits._

Not finding herself to care, she tossed the empty can aside, going to the personal hygiene isle. She grabbed a stick of deodorant as she passed through, knowing that until she could find running water (possibly not for several weeks) she wouldn't even be able to take a shower. The sink in the bathroom would let her clean up a bit, but not too much.

She doubled back to the food, grabbing another backpack to stock up enough for the rest of the day, and retreated back upstairs. Taking one of the TVs from electronics, she set it up on the glass table next to her bed, getting an extension cord to help reach from the outlet. Sorting through the movies, she picked out several she liked, or wanted to see, and settled down.

That became her habit for the following weeks. Wake up, check outside, gather food and drinks for the day, retreat back to her niche to try and forget the predicament she was in through movies and video games.

She was becoming quite good at single-player shooting games, at least.

Eventually she lost track of time, as days and weeks rolled into months. Many times she watched as zombies half heartedly came and went, slamming against the glass of the entrance. Hopes of a rescue, or any non-infected human existence, started dying down with the radio's continued silence. Afraid to leave the store because of the undead, she steered clear of the first floor all together.

Exactly three months after she had taken up refuge in the store, her luck changed. Four days after that, she regained lost hope.

* * *

Dahlia shot up at the sound of glass cracking. As quietly as she could, she rushed to the window, looking down as the midday sun illuminated everything it touched.

Zombies. Maybe a dozen or so, hammering away at the doors in unison.

With a disregard for being cautious any longer, she ran back to her niche, arming up in what she could grab (several guns with extra clips and ammo), remembering to hook the radio to her belt again. Finished, she snuck along the wall to the heavy, metal door of the large bathroom on the third floor, clearly employees only.

She scrambled around as she pulled pillows and blankets into the cemented and tiled room, before dragging her extra bags of food and drinks in, enough to last a day or two, at least. She finished with extra weapons, stashing them in the closer corner. Once her safe-room was fortified, she heaved the door shut behind her, until it was only cracked, quickly making her way back into the room.

She crouched low to the floor, looking down one escalator in clear view of the other leading to the ground floor. After many more minutes of thumps, and more cracking, she waited anxiously as her blood pumped through her veins.

She heard the glass shatter finally, and roars of the undead as they were unleashed upon her hideaway. She held a gun in either hand, holding steady as she aimed down the stairs.

The first one she saw, she hit dead center of the forehead. With her dad and brother, she was no stranger to hunting or guns. But killing, even if it was already dead, for the first time... was new.

She emptied each clip, hitting one of the undead with every shot. Tossing them aside, Dahlia grabbed the gun at her waist, bolting towards her room. She didn't look back to know that the few zombies left were in a quick pursuit, wounds and all. Shoving the door open, she closed it again, locking it as she shut it behind her.

She was almost positive that this used to be some sort of safe before it became a bathroom. With cement walls on all sides, and the hinges and heavy metal door that would undoubtedly take a couple hundred pounds of pressure to even dent, Dahlia was sure she would be safe from the undead for as long as she could last. In a last hope, she shoved sheets in the cracks at the bottom of the door, leaving only the small vent at the top of the longer wall for air.

There was a shuffling outside the door, and Dahlia held her breath, biting back the urge to cry. It fell silent, and she let out the air in her lungs.

Wrong move.

There was a thump against the door, and Dahlia jumped back, scrambling across the room. She grabbed a hunting rifle, and held it to her chest.

She sat in the room for several hours as the banging continued, growls and roars making their way through the door. As night fell, she knew only by the clock against the wall, the attempts on the door subsided.

Even so she dared not move out. Not hungry, she huddled against the wall with two sleeping bags, one to sit on and one to cover with, and a pillow for cushioning, she fell into a light, troubled sleep sitting up. She woke up slowly mere hours later, silence broken by static.

_What is that?_

In her tired state she looked around for several minutes before locating the radio.

"This is Claire Redfield's Convoy. Present loca-" static overtook the transmission, but Dahlia jumped at the sound. Outside of TV and movies, this was the first human voice she had heard since she started hiding.

She fumbled with the mouthpiece, pressing the button to cut off the static.

"Um, hello?" Her voice caught, and she coughed to clear her throat. Three months is a long time to not have said a single word. "Hello. Survivor out here, in need of assistance. Very important."

She released the button, and static over took the radio. After no response, she dropped the piece, letting it fall onto the tiled floor with a clatter.

Failure.

Finally succumbing to tears, she fell into another fitful sleep. For three days she huddled in the room, eating and drinking her few rations, clutching her gun protectively, as if it were a lifeline. There were times when she almost chanced leaving her sanctum, but stopped out of fear.

On the fourth day it was too much. She needed more food, and fast.

She climbed to her feet, strapping on her assortment of weapons, and a flashlight, a long black metal one, like law enforcement officers carried. With a handgun in one hand, fully loaded clip with an extra at her belt, and the flashlight in the other, she slowly cracked open the door.

Seeing nothing she chanced it further putting one foot into the room. The mountain boot didn't make a sound.

Nothing.

She opened the door fully, leaning her back against it as she looked around the room, searching for any sign of movement. The light from the windows was faint, early morning if she remembered the time correctly. She quietly moved away from her hide out, stalking silently through the shelves of merchandise.

There was a crash behind her, and she jumped, spinning, gun cocked and ready. The bullet found its way into the opened mouth of a lunging zombie, and it crumpled to the ground, sufficiently dead.

It's scream echoed through the store though, bringing alive it's companions.

With a shout Dahlia took off, shooting one form she saw moving in on her right. With its cry, she knew it was also now dead, and she ran down the stairs, taking them threes and fours at a time. With two more shots, she had two less creatures to worry about.

She never saw the one from her left, and with a blow that took the air from her lungs, she was knocked off her feet and over the railing a handful of steps up, slamming into the side of a display case. She felt the intruding body fly through the air as she twisted her own, and she landed hard onto the cement floor. The zombie was up before she was, but she was quicker with the gun.

It went down. Not for the first time in the last week was she happy for all the laser tag and paint-balling her brother and father had dragged her along to in the past.

With a grunt, Dahlia rolled to her feet, ignoring the pain in her side and at her head, and started off at a much slower pace, her survival the only thing in mind. She found the bathroom on the first floor, fleeing to it just as three more zombies chased her. Slamming the door, she locked it behind her and crumpled against it, sliding to the floor. This door was thick, but not metal. It wouldn't last very long. Dropping the gun and flashlight, she crawled under the sink, covering her ears with her palms, trying to block out the onslaught from the door.

_Please. Please don't let me die yet. I'm eleven. I'm only eleven, I don't want to die yet._

Ears blocked, concentrated on her mantra, she never heard the gunshots that rang through the store, or the voices yelling to each other.

* * *

"Do you think there'll be supplies there?"

Claire looked sideways at her car mate.

"There better be. We're running out of options."

Mike glanced over at her, meeting her eyes for a few seconds, before pulling the radio onto his lap.

"LJ, Carlos, there's a K-Mart ahead, an eighth of a mile on the right. We're gonna check it out. Over."

"Roger that. We'll be right behind you. Over."

The convoy of vehicles: a hummer, an oil truck, an army truck, an ambulance, and a plow truck all pulled into the almost empty lot.

"What the-"

A handful of undead were making their way through the busted windows.

"The only chance they'll travel in groups into a place is for food."

"But they don't eat the same kind of food that we do."

Claire gave Mike a blatant look, and the Australian's mouth formed an 'O'.

"LJ, Carlos, possibility of survivors. Undead are moving in. Over."

"Copy that, Mikey. We're in. Over."

"Hold down the fort," Claire ordered as they pulled close enough to the doors for a quick entrance. But not close enough to be surprised by anything that may be waiting to jump out. Mike gave her a salute, knowing that himself, Betty and several adult members of their convoy would be enough to handle a few zombies.

Cocking the shotgun, Claire moved slowly to the window, Carlos and LJ covering her back. She walked over the glass, wincing as it crunched beneath her feet. Using the hanging cloth as cover, she peaked through the doorway, motioning Carlos and LJ that it was clear to go.

Carlos went in first, Claire as cover, searching out the floor.

"Dead ahead, far side of the store. All three of them."

"Let's go."

Claire stepped through the door, LJ still covering both, and took aim. Pulling the trigger, she ignored the kick of the gun; instead cocked it again as her target went down. Carlos took out a zombie coming at Claire from the side, and the brunette took out another zombie at the door.

"Carlos!"

LJ's own shots rang through the air, first one catching the undead monster in its neck, the second in the side of its head.

With a third shot, Claire took out the last zombie at the door, and their fires ceased. No more howls, not more screeches.

The place was empty once again, in all appearances.

"Search the store," Claire ordered, looking side to side as she made her way across the floor. She heard her companions shuffle away, taking as much caution in their tasks as she did. Reaching the door, she pushed against it, working the knob.

Locked.

Stopping, she put her ear to the time worn wood. Whimpers. She knocked.

"Hey. Are you alright in there? Open up."

No answer. With a sigh she looked around for something she could force the door open with. Seeing nothing, she used the butt of the shotgun as a hammer. After the first few blows, the knob was starting to hang loosely.

"All clear."

"Clear."

Claire paused, turning away from the door.

"Rally up a few more people. Grab all the food and medical supplies you can find. We'll go through some clothes after the essentials are out of the way. I got this covered."

After two more responses, she heard them leave and return with backup, listening to the group of people go upstairs. Claire continued her assault on the door, and after several more hits, the knob fell to the ground in pieces. She kicked the door open, gun at the ready, but jumped slightly from the scream emitted by the hider. Hitting the switch, the fluorescent light flickered to life, and she saw the huddled form under the sink. She leaned her gun against the wall, noting the blood at the side of the victim's head.

"Hey, are you-" she reached out to touch the girl, who flinched violently, striking out against the intruding hand. Claire almost smacked herself; here was a young girl, who was just trapped in a room, doubting that she would survive the encounter.

The girl didn't open her eyes, but kept swinging her arms and kicking. Pinning the girl's legs with one knee, Claire huffed a breath.

_I'm not cut out for this parenting stuff._

Despite that thought, her compassionate side took over, and she grabbed the girl's arms, holding them into place before pulling the girl to her chest in a hug.

The girl kept struggling against her for several more minutes before she realized that she was in no harm. Her screams turned into sobs as the girl suddenly clung to her jacket.

"It's alright. You're safe now, we have you. You're safe. Nothing will hurt you now. You made it."

It wasn't for many minutes that the girl finally calmed down and relaxed.

"Hey there, you okay?" Claire asked, once she had pulled back.

Not saying a word, the girl stared, blinking tiredly.

"Let's get you looked at. Did you get bitten at all?"

The girl stared before shaking her head.

"I was knocked into the display," she whispered, voice hoarse from disuse.

"You're bleeding pretty well there. Come on."

Claire stood, helping the girl to her feet easily, leading her out the doors and into the sun. She brought her over to the ambulance, back doors already opened. Helping her into the back of the car, she let the girl sit on the bed before rummaging in the supplies chest to the side.

"This will hurt a bit," Claire warned as she soaked a cloth with a mixture of water and rubbing alcohol. The girl gasped, and tensed up, but didn't pull away from the contact.

_Good girl_.

"What's your name kid? How old are you?"

The blonde didn't answer, staring straight over Claire's shoulder at the wall. Claire sighed and was about to repeat herself.

"Eleven. I'll be twelve in August."

"It is August."

The girl got a confused look on her face.

"What day? I've been hiding in there since the beginning of May."

"May? How did you live this long?" Upon receiving no answer, Claire continued. "It's the twentieth."

The girl didn't respond for a moment.

"Then I'm twelve now."

Pulling out the tube of Neosporin, Claire squeezed some onto another cloth, applying it gently to the cut at her temple. It wouldn't need stitches, thank God, but it was pretty messy still, especially as a head wound. It would bleed for a while now. With a gauze pad pressing against the cut, Claire carefully wrapped the strand of bandage around the girl's head, putting enough pressure to hopefully stop the blood from coming, and to cover it from the air. Finished, Claire looked at the girl again.

"So, what's your name?"

She was silent for a moment.

"Does it matter? Everyone who knows it is gone. They're not coming back."

Claire studied the girl for a moment before nodding.

"Whatever you say K-Mart."

The girl gave her a confused look.

"K-Mart?"

Claire smirked.

"What, you have something better?"

The blonde looked up into the blue eyes of her savior, and after a moment shook her head.

"I guess not."

"Anything else hurt?"

The girl looked down.

"My side. But I don't think anything is broken."

"Let's check, just in case."

Reluctantly, the blonde lay back, pulling the bottom of her shirt up to just below her ribcage. A dark bruise was already forming. Gently Claire ran her fingers over the mark, studying the girl's face for any sign of pain. She twitched, leaning away from the contact.

"Are you sure it's okay?"

"It's sensitive, but it only just happened."

"You sure?"

The girl hummed the affirmative, not speaking.

"Then let's go. We have some restocking to do. You feeling up for it?"

The young teen nodded more readily, not wanting to be left alone now that she wasn't by herself.

"Claire! Who's this?"

Claire looked from the girl up to Carlos, and back to the girl, taking in her ragged appearance. Though she didn't smell horribly, it was clear that she hadn't bathed in a while, streaks of dirt, and a bit of blood, clinging to her skin and clothes. She was thin, almost unhealthily so, and pale from lack of sunlight. But that didn't hide the fact that she was still alert and on edge. From the assortment of knives, and the hostler at her hip, she was ready to keep fighting if she needed to.

"Our survivor. She's been holed up in here for just over three months, according to her. Since the start of May."

The dark haired man whistled.

"Geez girly, you sure know how to hold your own."

The pre-teen didn't reply, instead looking past the man to the assembly of people carrying bags and buckets of food and drinks out of the store.

"Hey K-Mart. You coming?"

Dahlia, newly Christened K-Mart, looked up at the taller woman, who had stopped at the cracked doorway.

"Yeah."


End file.
